


Stars Crossed

by StarlightCaptivator



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Dark, Hacking, Hey that's probably not a healthy coping mechanism, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Psychological Trauma, Revenge, Sexual Violence, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Torture, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightCaptivator/pseuds/StarlightCaptivator
Summary: "Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make." -Euripides





	1. In Vitro

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a happy fic, and will not have a happy ending. Please heed the warnings and tags and understand that you are reading this at your own risk. ♥
> 
> And if you _do_ read it, thank you for doing so! ^_^ ♥

Recovery was arduous.

Arduous and painful, more so than any term of imprisonment or a stint of nothing-boredom, interspersed with shooting pain and a sense of wrongness.

Blurr was only aware in and out in his crushed state, aware of pain and the shadow of despair echoed from that careful moment.

Recovery was worse in a way, to be aware, and to be cognizant of how entirely fragged up his entire _being_ was at this point.  

It would've been easy to wallow in the angst and despair, easy to lose himself to the gaping maw of self hatred and regret and the pity of his medical team, and the few bots that visited him.

Optimus looked tired, and older than his solar cycles should allow for, but that was an easy guess- as one did not lose a lover- one did not lose _family_ without a heavy toll upon the spark and mind.

Blurr supposed, in a way, he could relate. His loss was comparable, if more acute. His spark grieved for an immutable fact: Longarm Prime was dead.

At least, his Longarm Prime. His ideal, how he knew the bot he once called a lover. That, and his memories were tainted. But, it was all the better, in some ways. He could pretend that he knew nothing of them, that nothing had happened.

No one had known he and Longarm- that Shockwave were involved, and so- no one knew that he had committed a terrible treason.

He envied Optimus. Those memories with Prowl would be his to cherish until his spark left his frame and he could be reunited with his sparkmate.

In a way, he was lucky.

In a way, Blurr was too.

Only in that of the worst of ways, that had him gleaning information from his piteous visitors.

Jazz for one, was visibly exhausted. Blurr didn't blame him, it had to be an arduous task, to be babysitting the newly minted _Sentinel Magnus_ like he knew he had to be doing. What a fragging mess that was too, Jazz told him, without words.

And he was slipping, too.

Blurr's medical team had done a bang-up job creating a sterile, swaddling environment for him to recover him. There were the surgeons, the therapists, head shrinks.

All very kind and muffling. No hard news, or news in general, would've reached his audio receptors if not for his visitors.

In the course of one of Jazz's early visits, the usually smooth- talking mech let loose a piece of information that had Blurr stilling in his berth, for the implications his mind put upon him, the plans that followed.

Several captured Decepticons must have escaped.

Blurr would've wagered it wasn't _all_ of them, else Jazz wouldn't have visited him at all.

But it was his tells, noticeable thanks to years of working with one another and the sharp throb of pain keeping his mind at a sharp lucid from his carefully manipulated painkiller drip.

Jazz would have no reason for the guilt and those subtle promises in his conversation if Shockwave wasn't among the escapees.

It made the protoform deep pain more acute, made his anger run from an ember into a yawning inferno in an instant.

It was soon after that his sparkpulse elevated, and the nurse on duty shuffled Jazz out with that special brand of aloof medical kindness that was standard among the Autobots' best.

His time absorbing and analyzing the information given was brief, as it was in short order that he was sedated.

* * *

 

Coming to found him... Calm.

It was an insidious, delicious calm.

It was the calm that came pre-mission, or when stood at the starting line.

The pain was still there, yes, but it was almost like it had been shoved into the background of his personage.

It was like the information Jazz gave him set his brain module into neat files, and he had a plan of action waiting for him when he came out of sedation.

His medical team was apologetic, they couldn't tell him why or how he had come to have such an episode.

Blurr was, what seemed to them, gracious in turn. He was understanding, and showed such by taking to the slow physical therapy with gusto.

He improved over those next days in figurative leaps and bounds, though there was once he tried for physical, with the expected and painful results.

To the psych aspect of his care team, he was improving in those leaps and bounds he couldn't have physically.

"You seem almost.. Serene, as of late, Blurr." Rung observed, at one of their scheduled visits. Blurr was still stuck in his bed, still not nearly far enough along in his recovery to support himself for any extended period of time. That was agonizing in itself, and for a moment he had feared that Rung had made him.

"I don't know that I really have a choice in the matter seeing where I've ended up and all." He replied with a cant of his helm, more honesty than falsehood, and it had to be to be true, if in that sneaky, twisted way one learned in Ops. The best lies contained the most truth, after all. This one had the added bonus of being said in a manner almost sheepish, which in turn had Rung's optics light up and a encouraged a small laugh.

Blurr managed a smile in turn. "Correct me if I'm wrong doc, but I read somewhere that being able to joke about your situation is one of the first steps to a more mental side of recovery." Rung smiled at him, it seemed approving.

"It is, as long as those jokes don't turn _too_ self deprecating." He settled one slender leg over the other and leaned back in his seat just so. "And it seems like from our visits, and from what your medical staff tells me, that your mind is nothing _but_ recovery, Agent. What do you plan to do upon your release?"

Ahh, and it was an innocent sounding question, so insidiously innocent.

It was, in a word, a trap.

_I'm going to gather my resources, gather my intel, and leave Cybertron to hunt down that deceitful piece of slag that is Shockwave, even if it takes me across the universe to do so. Then I'm going to pay him back for what he did to me- to us- for every moment of time he stole and every moment that I lay here broken._

"Blurr?" Rung's voice, tinged with concern, snapped him out of the reverie he'd suddenly fallen into. He smiled a pained smile at the psychiatrist.

"I'm gonna run until I collapse, doc."

* * *

Rung had obviously liked his answer, or was in the very least sympathetic to him and his plight, for he said a good few comforting things to him and promised to bring back some running simulation of some sort on his next visit.

It was promising where his revenge was concerned. Rung was the psych assigned to Ops as a whole, and so he was _good_ at what he did.

But, Blurr was was the best of the best where Autobot spies were concerned, even if he had been temporarily blinded by the veil of such a pretty lie as his relationship had been.

Oh, and how he'd fallen for it too, fallen for Longarm so seemingly fresh-faced from Autoboot camp, yet so talented and so _seemingly_ loyal.

Always so concerned about the Autobot cause and Cybertronian security, he was.

Blurr had found it endearing, and openly expressed such to him when he had the chance, and it led to a special sort of affair that Blurr had been sure only existed in the annals of silly romance novels.

He'd been so easily taken, and he was a fool for it.

He still loved him, and he was a fool for that, too.

It was there, reclined in his mediberth without a choice and his bodily autonomy and where he could and could not go yeah, that he realize that he had reached a dark place - a type of dangerous precipice in a matter of speaking.

He reached a dark place, planning to do dark things and a tiny voice inside of him asked if that was really the path he wanted to travel down.

But at the same time, it couldn't help that those years he had spent over for not - he had compromised the safety of his home all by his inability to be the best.

He was, after a manner, complicit in the death of Ultra Magnus.

The weight of that ironically, was crushing.

A part of him longed for those days of ignorance, those days that were comfortable and sweet and full of those soft, shared glances and chased with nights of companionship and the simple joy that came with the security of a longtime partner.

Broken frame and all, broken mind and all - that was what make Blurr feel the most violated.

Shockwave had used him, plain and simple.

He'd used him and he'd pay for that, and there was no way around it.

* * *

Blurr's release from the hospital came with no fanfare and a good deal of frustration. He was only half recovered but deemed no longer _fragile_.

His team as a whole tried to make the decision for him in his place of residence, but it was in short order and with gentle reminder that they agreed with Blurr's choices. He'd be easier to handle with a dedicated nurse coming to his apartment on the daily than if he was relegated to a _halfway_ _house_.

He may have still been temporarily crippled, but that didn't stop him from being one of the most dangerous the Autobots had to offer.

And, it was another of those small blessings too, that Longarm had never moved in with him at his many offers.

The _"veneer of professionalism"_ he'd say in a lowered tone, as if he was trying to seduce blur when Blurr did not need much by way of  seducing.

It meant that coming home found his quarters only _partially_ ransacked.

He understood why, abstractly, because despite the secretive nature of their relationship, there had to be those that were... suspicious.

He supposed that if any of that suspicion had reached Sentinel Magnus, he'd be facing down the inside of Fortress Maximus' infirmary, as opposed to his home.  

Again, for a moment that shame was paramount.

And again, it past into a dull aching heat - who's only purpose was a reminder and a spark to a terrible flame.

It made his pedes twitch, made him want to reach that level of blessed exertion that none before him had - it made him want to run across the sky and into the Blackness of space.

Being home meant he could start his planning in earnest. Being still in recovery, and thus in a way still monitored - Meant for once he had to take it slow.

Gathering information became quite easy from home, as he discovered that all of his old credentials were still intact, he had somehow retained hold of his rank and status.

Investigating why found him listed as 'on sabbatical' and he found himself all the more blessed for it, in a manner. It left him resources in spades, and when the time came for him to leave, and the time to plot in earnest, and collect what he needed for his journey.


	2. In Vivo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your last out, things get hairy from here on. Thank you for reading, for the encouragement, and a shout out to a special someone for making sure this wasn't utter garbo. ♥
> 
> Read at your own risk, Merr Crisis and enjoy~

 The first step onto the small vessel he'd acquired found him in an amazingly singular mind and singular focus.

It'd taken so long for his legs to be rebuilt and his pedes fixed for true. It was a delicate rebuild, that, one that didn't take kindly to anything but specialists' work to fully integrate into his special frame.

And then even then, his retraining in all those things took more time from him yet.

Blurr was nothing if not tenacious, and it was that tenacity that found him alone in space, hurtling for a triangulation of echoed points deep in the Autobot rimworlds.

The path he followed stank of hurry, of under preparation and desperation and he was utterly expecting the lead down to a small planet, who's only helpful descriptor in the Autobot database of such rimworld planets was that it may or may not be suitable for Cybertronic life.

Blurr had plenty of time on his journey, at even in the descent leading down to the tiny podunk planet in the middle of nowhere, to once again review his life; to review his choices that had brought him to this point, where he had laid so low as to find revenge as the only important- the only guiding factor he could see.

What power, Shockwave held over him even then.

His descent felt like it was a descent more on to the pit, for the hurt he planned to exact upon his former lover, for the glee that ran in his lines at such a thought. 

His landing was far more graceful than he imagined that the Decepticons' landing ended up being when they encountered this planet, and it was in short order that he was cautiously stepping out onto an alien world.

His quarry wasn't far,  it was a short jog that in the past would have taken him moments that brought him minutes later to the horizon - and the impressive wreck of one of the Autobot battlecruisers that sat there.

It showed no outwards signs of life - nothing showed up on Blurr's thermals aside from the radiant heat from this system's star.

Scenarios ran through his head again and again before settling down into a deep murmur at the back of his processors.

He was ready.

A flick of his arm and he had a blaster out and at the ready, ready to shoot at the first sign of an ambush. But, it was all paranoid thinking for that - as on a planet with no cover save from the ship he had just landed, there would be no ambush coming from the quiet, hulking, vessel before him.

A breach in the hull of the ship,  visible only as he approached, spoke volumes to the end of the journey, and it was misbegotten relief that had him choosing to climb through that breach, and on to the dusty bridge.

He took a moment to find the protocols within him before he pinged the vessel and got a periphery status report for his trouble.

There were three other sparks on board, not including his.

The realization was perverse and nauseating, when he realized that for his plotting, that for the darkness he had fostered so lovingly within him - he was about to become a hero.

It was a simple jaunt, to the back of the ship where three stasis pods lay in use one for each of those three sparks.

They were all about size, and so of course it should have been funny to see these three Decepticons, crammed into these tiny pods as if it would actually sustain them for long; though likely longer than any Decepticon stasis pod would at this point.

But, only two of the stasis pods were so ill fitting. For in the third, a familiar face reflected back at him in some sort of perverse tranquility.

It was enough to quicken his vents, to cloud has optics with tears unshed, to send a tremor through his frame.

Truly, he had never expected to see Longarm again.

It made sense, in that way that things that had previously been abstract tended to be.

The pods were Autobot sized, and so Shockwave took the form of an Autobot to fit inside.

For a moment, Blurr felt like it was hard to get his vents going, his vision swam, for just a moment, before those mission protocols kicked in and he was still.

It hurt, where previously aside from his purgatory on the ship, he'd felt little to nothing at all.

He was hardly aware when he hacked the pod, wrenching open the door to it before it could complete wake-up protocols.

It'd leave Shockwave stasis sick, which fit for Blurr's plans, and he proceeded to drag the mostly- unconscious mech out of the moorings in the pod and through the ship.

His path was clear, made from pilfered blueprints and plans for renovations, and it was in short order that he'd wrenched open the door to what had once been some poor sop's quarter's- and before and after that, a handy storage, though this time found the berthing still in it.

Shockwave was still in the torpor of stasis sickness when Blurr magna-cuffed him to the wall, to the hefty pipes sticking out of the wall.

He was still in the torpor even as a reflexive cry left his vocalizer, as the cuffs activated and forced him into his true root mode.

It was like a ripple, where a moment found Longarm's frame, his arms stretched over his helm, three pinpoints of light shown out from his false face- and then he wasn't.

Such a large frame took up much of a small space, almost as if he had exploded outwards in in all directions in the forcing of that subspaced mass into wholeness.

Blurr side-stepped this change easily, and just as easily stepped into the space next to the warframe's body.

It was a simple thing, the port opening, producing the dataslug.

Jamming it in.

Jamming the cover shut.

And Shockwave shrieked again, half unknowing- half unconscious;  an unholy thing to the audial receptors of any other.

Once more, Blurr, felt little.

There was wrong and there was right, but with little else there between but space, and he'd long since crossed the boundaries of such concepts.

Here he was, reacting and lashing back out in a double-edged revenge, striking out as he was struck - Oh, though, how light that blow had been.

It was a cruelty, after the fact. Sweet words for a future that could never have been- but they took Blurr in easily.

 _Someday._ He had been promised. _Someday you and I will be together in the open without fear of reprisal._

It had been sickening, to be alone on that ship and forced to examine those words and what they really meant.

Would _Shockwave_ have taken him away? Made him into a little kept pet if he had succeeded in getting Cybertron for his lord and master?

Would he have broken Blurr to something more pathetic and broken than what he already was? 

He could almost see himself put on display, could almost see himself with his modesty paneling ripped away, putting his primary and secondary interface arrays on display for his humiliation and the Decepticon's further victory. His spark would be behind a new chest plate made of adamant cracked to open air, just like those pleasure bots he'd had the displeasure of laying optics on on those far-flung worlds.

He'd have been hobbled.

The thought in the present brought a fresh wave of anger to Blurr's entire demeanor, and he brought his pede forward to sit against Shockwave's primary modesty paneling in a firm step.

It was almost instinctual, running his tire, but he'd not run it so hard in months, by that point.

The work it did made his pede sore, but it was all that much more worth it- when the friction ripped the panel right from Shockwave's frame.

Shockwave screeched again, his frame attempted sluggishly to bow away from Blurr and his cruel pede, but just the fact that he moved so slow spoke volumes to the damage already done.

He canted his helm to the side just so, catching the baleful, burning optic staring at him.

"Awake yet?" He asked, a simple, curious inquiry.

That optic grew brighter, and while Blurr did not _smile,_ he couldn't not feel satisfied to see Shockwave come to, impeded by the viral cocktail Blurr had uploaded to his core and brought so utterly low. 

"Talking is my forte - or so I'm told - or was told pretty often before you so helpfully brought things into a little bit of a closer perspective." He put his servos on his hip amor. It still didn't feel right, like it was out of place or unaligned in just some small way.

"I don't really feel like I need to explain myself or my plans or anything to you- not that I ever had to but we find ourselves in what may look like a touch of a precarious situation. So, here's the deal: No one is coming for you. You've been here for months collecting dust, and I plan to do what I do and send your miserable spark to the pit, okay?"

Shockwave let out a blat of static, and Blurr shook his head as if he had been terribly put upon.

"See, I _knew_ you'd try that. Didn't even bother to review your own systems, did you? I'm not gonna hear a single Primus-blessed thing out of you, because I don't fragging WANT TO **FRAGGING HEAR IT**!!" In a moment of lost cool, Blurr lashed out, kicking across Shockwave's exposed valve with the tip of his pede.

The Decepticon let out a choked gasping sound and attempted to huddle into himself again. Blurr stepped back and took in a deep, cleansing vent.

He was doing something beyond the realm of "positively fragged up", and lost his cool truly, when he was still back at Iacon general, laying on his hospital bed and thinking about the fact that Shockwave was still alive and his lover and his Magnus were essentially dead.

But, it wouldn't do to lose _control_. Even debilitated, even though he'd made sure Shockwave would be at death's door for their special little reunion, he'd tailored his special virus to ensure he'd be _aware_.

As long as he was aware, he'd be _dangerous_ , and it'd be within Blurr's interests to act with care.

Even then, even with that slight tremor taking up his frame, Shockwave watched him, and it was obvious that he was trying to calculate what he could do- how he could get out of this, a most unfavorable of situations.

Blurr hated him even more.

He expressed this in moving closer, and withdrawing a plasma-blade from his subspace. Shockwave's pupil flitted from the knife to Blurr's expression, narrowing in what Blurr could only assume was fear.

Blurr considered him for a long, painful moment before he sheathed it again. He considered his life, how much it was worth in the long run. How his actions would be taken if they got back to Cybertron.

He considered Shockwave's spike housing, which he could see the aperture to juddering as the big mech worked to keep it closed.

Slowly, a smile spread across Blurr's face.

"I wasn't sure _that part_ of the virus would work, it was a pretty slapdash job on my part. But you know me always _rushing ahead,_ eh?"

He dropped to his knees and shuffled forwards, opening Shockwave's thighs with ease, despite the resistance Shockwave put up. Blurr scoffed. "You've never been afraid to spread'em for me before now, so why start? We both know how this is going to end. Might as well enjoy it while you can, because I promise you'll not be enjoying it for _long_."

Shockwave stared at him with as much menace as he could manage, in such a state. "And maybe after you, I'll work your _master_ over a little, hmm?"

That garnered a worthwhile reaction, as Shockwave lurched weakly in his cuffs as if trying to lunge at him. 

Blurr let out the most put upon sigh he could manage. "I knew you cared about him more than you care about me, but that's how it's always been, hasn't it?" 

His fingers danced merrily along the emerging spike, coaxing it to pressurization with ease. 

Shockwave's futile attempts to squirm away only aided Blurr and his work, and it wasn't before long that Shockwave's spike was at full pressure and weeping. 

"And look at you here, getting off by my servo still.  Once easy trash always easy, aren't you Shockwave?" 

Of course the both of them knew it was the virus, forcing Shockwave's systems into a sickly overdrive and into the state he was in now, but the power of words was undeniable.

Blurr wanted him to _hurt,_ and so hurt he would, in any way he could manage. 

Words could be something he could work with.

Words had Shockwave thrashing in his bonds again, as Blurr kept that firm grip on his spike and eventually slipped the hard length of him into his valve.

Shockwave's damaged systems let out a broken whine as he took him, let out a redline screech when Blurr swiveled his hips forwards and then back again. In his valve so lubricated by just how _keyed up_  he was, the slightly overlarge spike was divine. He could only imagine how it felt for Shockwave, all those conflicting inputs aimed to his sensor net and spillover data aimed at emotional systems rumored to be off-line. 

The point was, Shockwave was suffering, in ways both obvious and subtle, from his jerks all the way down to the subtle tremors at his seams. 

The sight made Blurr feel triumphant. 

Victorious. 

Sick. 

But- apparently not sick enough to stop, as he brought a hand down to work at his node as the charge quickened in his systems. 

He was too angry, the wound was too wide for empathy to follow him, save for to the inevitable conclusion. 

Blurr dug the blunt digits of one hand into an open seam and rolled his hips down harder, chased that dragon a little faster - only to stop, to pause as a bloom of warmth materialized deep inside him. He rocked to a stop as Shockwave trembled under him, optic sparking and unseeing. 

Emotions struck through Blurr like rocks striking the hull of a cruiser in an asteroid field. He was stunned that Shockwave had actually achieved overload, angry that he'd reached it before he'd gotten his own climax-And pleased in a stunned sort of way that his plan was working so swimmingly. Another spurt of transfluid and his own overload washed through him, jarring him through the situation for as rare and familiar it felt, if in this case- switched from their usual.  

And wasn't that the tragedy of this whole encounter- of his whole life? He got too comfortable with the familiar and it ended up with him on an incinerator conveyor belt. 

Staring at him as he peeled off Shockwave's frame, he stood to let that softening spike slip out of him. He looked down to where Shockwave looked unseeing, the shame and pain coming off of him was nearly palpable. 

His systems remained at their redline, unable to cool his stressed frame or cycle down to normal. Blurr beheld him, and considered allowing the virus to run it's course and burn Shockwave's systems out completely. 

He'd suffer for longer, in that sickness and shame and knowledge that what he'd done had been done to him, that he'd not asked for it in the way he'd gotten it and had to deal with the ramifications on his own. 

But no. 

He brought his blaster back out, and could tell from Shockwave's lack of response that truly, he saw no longer. 

It wouldn't do, to leave him there, with evidence of hacking and rape on his frame. 

He lifted the blaster and set it to a wide radius, at its highest intensity. 

That wouldn't do at all.

* * *

Arranging the scene, he'd gone and turned to feeling nothing, if not close to it. 

It's an awfully romantic notion, the thought of one dying with their lover, but in a way, Blurr could relate. 

Shockwave was dead.   
Longarm was dead. 

And his number was up in a way, too. 

He knew well that his stage was good, trained by the best he was- and any question would be swept under the metaphorical rug, for the glory and value the two living Decepticons would bring the commonwealth at large. 

Unless someone looked closely, investigated deeply back into his past, _Longarm's_ past; their shared past together- then only Blurr would know about the deeds that transpired upon this vessel. 

As he activated the remote comms unit he'd brought along and synched it with this and his little ship, sitting out beyond. 

He'd wait for his people -his cover- with a chronic empty feeling expanding in his spark and the weight of his sins riding on his back. 

For as long as he could stand it. 


End file.
